18
With six tables one might have expected bedlam, but they were well spaced so that no-one needed to raise their voice. Elizabeth found four guests already seated, and a solitary elderly man at the opposite end, next to two vacant chairs. She acknowledged him with a smile, at which he rose and bowed; his eyes were bloodshot, and the skin around them scaly and darkened. On her right, a lady in her thirties was holding forth in German; after a few seconds she paused and faced Elizabeth, who bowed and said, ‘Fr?ulein Bennet.’
‘Herzogin von Sagan.’
The lady turned away with a sniff, leaving Elizabeth an overwhelming impression of beauty and presence. The crimson dress had short puffed sleeves leaving arms bare and neckline low; her hair was dark with cascading ringlets. While the lady resumed speaking, Elizabeth noticed Darcy hovering over the empty chair.
‘Loyalty of present to past?’ he asked gravely.
‘Yes!’ She beamed at him. ‘Do sit down.’
The elderly man at head of table seemed to perk up at this exchange, and murmured a name in what sounded like Russian. Darcy introduced himself in German and received a nod from a grand dame on his left.
Darcy faced Elizabeth with a shrug. No-one had shown any hint of speaking English. They could try French, but the Russian gentleman appeared uninterested in conversation, while the guests on the other side were immersed in a spirited debate they could not follow.
Servants passed to serve potato soup—normally a winter dish, Elizabeth imagined, but welcome in this unusually cold summer. She looked up at Darcy. ‘Should we not be discussing the topic?’
‘The floor is yours, Miss Bennet.’
She glanced at the Russian, wondering whether he had any idea what they were saying. ‘Does the present owe loyalty to the past?’ She smiled. ‘Of course not, for the simple reason that our actions leave the past unchanged. What use is loyalty when we are powerless?’
‘You are persuasive as always,’ Darcy said. ‘And yet … I would have to differ. For we are not dropped into this world at random. We inherit traditions, both of nation and family. We are born, you might say, into a role. The land I now own was acquired hundreds of years ago by my ancestors, who developed the estate according to certain values, and gave it a character nurtured by my grandfather and my father. Trees were planted by men who would never see them grow. I may contribute ideas of my own. But I feel a duty to respect theirs—even if they have long passed on. And who knows, perhaps they watch still.’
‘Is that relevant?’ Elizabeth said. ‘I hope and pray that our forefathers survive in some higher place, but if so, their approval or disapproval of our present actions occurs now, not in the past.’
The Russian gentleman grunted, and Elizabeth saw he was observing her with amusement; in fact, the whole table had gone quiet.
‘True,’ Darcy said. ‘But you have not answered my main point.’
‘I see no difficulty. Yes, it is a pity to interrupt a project already begun, but we should feel no obligation …’
The woman on her right waggled a finger as she interrupted. ‘You mistake, Fraulein. The gentleman speaks the truth. We suffer still from the accursed Bonaparte that believes the past is bad and we must start again. Die Tradition!’ She gave the word a French pronunciation. ‘It is, how do you say, the earth in which we grow. Without it we are lost!’
Elizabeth flinched, unsure whether she found herself in a friendly discussion, or a battle. ‘ Madame, how should I address you?’
‘I told you. Herzogin von Sagan.’
The Russian gentleman whispered, ‘Duchess.’
‘I agree about Bonaparte, Duchess. But some traditional ideas are simply wrong. Men once believed the earth flat.’
The duchess dismissed this with a wave. ‘Of course I’m not speaking of such absurdities. Die Zivilisation. The social order. That is what matters. Always there have been kings and queens. Always the high and the low. It is the will of God.’
Elizabeth looked at Darcy in case he wanted to intervene, but he merely observed, with a smile she recognised from drawing-room duels at Netherfield and Rosings. Servants cleared their soup plates and brought a dish called Tafelspitz of boiled beef. Duchess von Sagan had returned to her own language, so Elizabeth addressed the Russian gentleman.
‘Forgive me, sir, I had not realised you spoke English.’
‘It is of no consequence.’ He spoke with no accent. ‘In my youth I visited your country, which was fashionable among the Russian nobility. I studied English gardens, believing they struck a perfect balance between the natural and the formal.’ He paused. ‘I should apologise for my curt introduction. To be honest, I came to listen to the quartet, not for society, which is increasingly wearying to me. But your lively discussion …’ He glanced at Darcy. ‘Revived me. My name, in case you missed it, is Count Razumovsky.’
‘We will have music after supper?’ Darcy asked.
The count’s bloodshot eyes took on a dreamy expression. ‘A work by Ludwig van Beethoven which I commissioned ten years ago. It will be a consolation to hear it again.’ He smiled at Elizabeth. ‘You enjoy music?’
‘Fortunately, since I am companion to Lord Selborn’s daughter, who lives for nothing else.’
‘Selborn.’ A pause. ‘I met him at the congress, but he did not bring his family.’
‘Lady Justina is an accomplished pianist and an admirer of Herr Beethoven. She has been learning the sonata dedicated to Count Waldstein.’
‘Then she is accomplished indeed.’ Rasumovsky looked around the room. ‘Poor Waldstein. I don’t see him, but he lives in poverty now. Such grandiose plans, so little practical sense. Like me he was once a patron of Beethoven, but his debts put a stop to that. The dedication was gifted out of friendship.’
Elizabeth fell silent, fascinated by this glimpse into the real people whose names would forever be associated with these works.
‘You said companion,’ Rasumovsky said. ‘May I ask what this means? A friend perhaps?’
‘It is a paid position. As to whether we are friends …’ She smiled at Darcy. ‘Sometimes.’
The count frowned. ‘Forgive me, but you talk, and act, with a poise and wit unusual for a lady in such a post.’
‘Miss Bennet is a gentleman’s daughter …’ Darcy broke off, leaving Elizabeth to explain further.
She sighed. ‘I have no brothers, sir, and my family was left poor after my father passed away. But I have been fortunate to live with a family as generous as the Selborns.’
He touched her arm. ‘Your misfortune, my dear, makes your vivacity all the more admirable. I have myself undergone a precipitous fall—and responded, I fear, less bravely. Just two years ago I had a palace and an art collection that was the talk of Vienna. Now—what you see.’
‘May I ask how?’ She reddened. ‘If it is not …’
‘There is no secret.’ He smiled. ‘Lord Selborn will know, since he was present at the glittering ball that I hosted on New Year’s eve in 14. Tsar Alexander was guest of honour. All contributors to the congress were invited. To accommodate them I had an extension built, and it was there that a fire started. The palace, my art collection—all lost.’
‘How dreadful.’ Elizabeth gasped. ‘And the guests …’
‘Unharmed. Servants helped me fight the flames.’ He pointed to his face. ‘This was my own fault, for stubbornly pursuing a hopeless cause. I am recovered, but unable to see as clearly as I would like.’ He said to Darcy, ‘You know this young lady well?’
‘I have that honour.’
‘I could not help noticing a special, ah, connection between you. But I must not pry.’
Elizabeth met Darcy’s eye a moment, and to hide her embarrassment asked the count, ‘Does Herr Beethoven attend soirées or concerts?’
‘Rarely, except to perform on the pianoforte.’
‘In spite of his disability?’
‘He claims not to hear a note.’ The count smiled. ‘Yet how brilliantly he plays! A few years ago a Berliner named Steibelt challenged him to an improvisation duel in front of an audience. Steibelt arrived with a prepared tune upon which he conjured a whirlwind of embellishment. It was not enough. Beethoven turned Steibelt’s sheet music upside-down, picked out the inverted tune, and improvised a sublime set of variations, partly a parody, but much more. Before he had finished, Steibelt quitted the salon, vowing never to return to Vienna while Beethoven lived there.’
‘It would be wonderful to hear the composer perform,’ Elizabeth said.
‘I cannot commission works as I did formerly, but we are still friends.’ The count looked at Darcy, then back at Elizabeth. ‘Shall I try to arrange a meeting? He has withdrawn into his shell owing to family difficulties. But I can ask.’
Elizabeth gasped. ‘I’d be most grateful, especially if we could include Lord Selborn’s family in the invitation.’
‘Ah. The accomplished daughter.’
‘Lady Justina would be in seventh heaven.’
‘Then I will see.’